


A Lot Can Happen in 3/4 Time

by CollingwoodGirl



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-13
Updated: 2014-09-13
Packaged: 2018-02-17 04:49:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2297159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CollingwoodGirl/pseuds/CollingwoodGirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack has been invited to Melbourne's grandest charity ball.<br/>Will Jack wear a tux? Of course! Will Rosie be insufferable? Pretty likely. Will Phryne charm all in her wake? Naturally. Will Jack dance? You'll have to read to find out.</p>
<p>Standalone. Set between 'Dead Air' and 'Unnatural Habits'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Lot Can Happen in 3/4 Time

**Author's Note:**

> I've has this fic rattling around in my head for a few weeks now and decided it was time to get it on 'paper' and post it because I'm finally about to see 'Unnatural Habits'. I figured I wouldn't have the stomach for it after that.
> 
> Constructive criticism welcome!

Resisting the urge to fiddle with his bow tie, Detective Inspector Jack Robinson waited in the entrance hall of the familiar St. Kilda home. He clasped his hands tightly in front of him, channeling his nerves into a rigid stillness while he memorized the patterns of the tile work. _Who was he kidding? He could have sketched it in his sleep_. For the life of him, he couldn't imagine why he had consented to this. If it had been an official assignment, he would have wasted no time requesting another officer handle the job. The idea of hobnobbing with "the cream" of Melbourne society appealed to him not in the least. But as The Honourable Phryne Fisher descended the staircase, his heart gave a leap and he could no longer fool himself - she was the singular reason for spending his only night off amidst a field of supercilious toffs. 

Phryne was a vision in emerald green silk charmeuse. The bias cut dress was unadorned but clung snugly to her figure, accentuating every curve except where it flared around her ankles. Delicate straps arched over the outer edges of her collarbone and the fabric gathered provocatively at neckline. Sparkling purple stones peeked out from beneath her dark, shiny bob, their marcasite mounts catching the light as she moved and a hair comb set with matching amethysts glittered over her right ear. Her pale arms and hands were absent of embellishment and stood out all the more for it.

"Miss Fisher," he said with softened eyes.

The complex plates which formed the bedrock of their relationship had shifted under them once more. Ever since his divorce, Miss Fisher's once casual flirtation had taken on new meaning - a promise waiting to be fulfilled. Her words echoed back to him. A heart as deep as an ocean. A dare (and a date) to ride the Scenic Railway. A declaration that she was on his team. For months, the sentiment had seemed to build and Jack had dared to believe that she might care for him. And then it all went to hell. It had been a jolt of seismic proportion. His true feelings had been brought to bear and he had found himself crushed by the weight. He had called her reckless, revealed as much of his feelings as he dared before martyring himself - letting her go. She had responded with the expected ire and then, regret. Regret at the loss - not of him, he thought - but of their partnership. Missing the rush of discovery, the high of deciphering the puzzle together.

But the truth could not be ignored for long - it _was_ what they did best. Miss Fisher had firmly inserted herself back into his life by inserting herself on his motorbike - despite the friction it caused. Jack eventually had agreed to the partnership, resolving to keep his feelings in check, promising that he would do his best to stay in step - despite the pain he still felt. It had taken him a long time to find his footing. He had reminded himself that no matter how many dazzling smiles she threw his way, they were not truly for him. Until Maiden Creek. A Smile. A Hat. A Plea. A Song. And, here they were again. The ground threatened to open up and swallow him whole.

"Jack," she breathed, extending a hand to him.

He allowed himself to take it, capturing her fingers and brushing the top of her hand with his thumb. Lips were not an option from which he could easily recover.

Looking slightly disappointed, she added, "You haven't seen the best part." She twirled under his arm to reveal the back of the dress. The delicate straps plunged, crossing down the length of her ivory back, into a pool of silky green fabric just above the base of her spine and only millimeters shy of scandalous. _Was she wearing this to tempt him or torture him?_ Jack wondered. _Both_ , came the answer. 

Satisfied by the look of desire that momentarily clouded Jack's eyes, she murmered, "Ready?"  
He had to swallow hard before he was able to stutter assent. Knowing the best chance he had at being able to form coherent speech was to get her covered up as quickly as possible, he helped her into her wrap and they set off.

Stepping into the Windsor's Grand Ballroom, they were immediately bathed in golden light. Crystals, dripping from their ornate chandeliers, winked at the guests and threw refracted rainbows upon them. The brass of the large jazz band was muted by hundreds of voices in conversation and punctuated by the sounds of tinkling glass. Jack took a deep breath.

It was the night of Melbourne's largest and finest charity ball. Nearly everyone in attendance was a person of significant influence. Dignitaries and politicians rubbed elbows with the city's high society and wealthy. The men and women were dressed in their finery and jewels glinted and sparkled at every turn. He would have felt terribly out of place and out of his league if were it not for the woman standing to his immediate left.

"Tell me again exactly what I'm doing here?"  
"It's the perfect cover, Jack." 

The lady detective felt sure she was getting closer to unraveling the blackmail ring involving the Imperial Club's clientele. On a tip off from Madame Lyon, Phryne had been conducting surveillance and spotted a man she recognized from one of Aunt Prudence's hospital charities. She was counting on his appearance at the charity ball in order to identify him.

"Besides, Aunt P. insisted I attend and this kind of event requires a partner."  
"And, no one else was available?" he baited.  
"Well, no one who is both legally armed and looks as dashing in a tuxedo," she purred while smoothing the lapels of his jacket.  
Reddening at the compliment, but looking pleased all the same, Jack offered her his arm.

The room seemed to open itself up to them - or to her, at least. Phryne mixed effortlessly with the tight knit cliques of the upper classes with her charming and effervescent ways. The men ate out of the palm of her hand and the women remarked on her modern dress, asking for the name of her couturier.

Many of the ladies also inquired about the identity of her handsome companion and his connections. Surely, they would have noticed him before - a single, attractive man in such circles does not stay a secret for long. To his surprise, she introduced him not as detective inspector but simply as, "My partner, Jack Robinson." The first time she had said this, her arm wound further around his and caught his bicep with a squeeze. To his greater surprise, she did not remove it - even when Aunt Prudence's eyes seemed to bore a hole into Phryne's hand.

They made their way through the throng, Phryne's eyes intermittently scanning the crowds for the suspicious man. Phryne snagged two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter's tray and handed one to Jack. "I don't think I should be drinking while I'm on duty," he teased.

"My rules are quite different from the constabulary's, Jack. In fact, I think you'll find that such extra curricular activities are encouraged." She tipped her glass back and took a long drink, her eyes never leaving his.  
He took a sip too, his throat was suddenly rather dry. "Such as?"   
"Oh, I don't know," she said innocently, pretending to straighten his bow tie. "A dance, perhaps. Just as a start?" Unable to tear his gaze from hers, Jack felt the familiar spark alight in his belly.

"Jack doesn't dance, Miss Fisher," interrupted a knowing voice with a certain snide in her tone. Rosie Sanderson had sidled up to them with her fiancé in tow. Surprised and embarrassed that their little tête-à-tête was overheard, Jack unconsciously retracted from Miss Fisher's touch before exclaiming, "Rosie!"

Phryne seemed to take it in stride, greeting them as if they were old friends. She held her hand out as she bade good evening to Mr. Fletcher. "Sidney, please," he insisted. Sidney Fletcher had the easy manners of someone who grew up with wealth and didn't think twice about bringing the delicate knuckles to brush against his lips for the merest of seconds. Good etiquette also forbade him to mention the flinch he saw the Inspector give at this greeting. "Jack," he acknowledged in a friendly voice and extended a large hand, which Jack obligingly shook.

They exchanged pleasantries with the overenthusiasm that often accompanies acute discomfort.  
_Yes, don't you know Sidney is a major benefactor?_  
_No, I've never seen the Windsor look quite as grand!_  
_Of course, I can introduce you to Lord Bennington, he sits on the hospital board with my aunt._  
_Father's here somewhere, you really should say hello._

Unknowingly, Phryne had begun to sway the music of the band, which was playing a fast jazz number. Eyeing her with thinly veiled animosity, Rosie pronounced, "I prefer the classical arrangements. These modern numbers are so distasteful." She looked toward the dance floor and her nose crinkled at the varying degrees of familiarity that were on display. "Of course, Sidney doesn't agree. He's much more modern - like you, Miss Fisher. Jack and I are old-fashioned. Aren't we, Jack?"

Jack did not know how to respond. Yes, in some ways he supposed he was old-fashioned. But when Rosie put it like that, well, he couldn't think of anything he wanted to be less.

In an attempt to escape the awkwardness, Sidney addressed Miss Fisher, "Well, since my lovely bride-to-be won't indulge me - and we seem to be of one mind on the subject - would you care to take a turn?" Phryne looked at Jack with some expectancy but when he only glanced down at his shoes, she crooned, "It would be my honor," and accepted Sidney's hand as he escorted her to the dance floor and guided her into step with him.

Rosie's eyes followed them as she bit down on a sly smile. She had Jack to herself, for the moment. Perhaps even for longer, as the fickle Miss Fisher would surely be distracted from her boring, old-fashioned policeman by the number of men who had taken her appearance on the floor as a sign of opportunity. Rosie stepped closer to Jack.

"Father didn't mention you would be here in an official capacity, Jack."  
"That's because I'm not."  
"So, you're here as...?"  
"As Miss Fisher's partner," Jack said uncomfortably - not knowing exactly how to answer and co-opting Phryne's words instead.  
"Hmmm. You know, Jack, you should be more careful. Think about your reputation." Her eyes turned from her former husband to where his "partner" was dancing a vigorous Black Bottom with Sidney. "I know she's a _lady_ , Jack. But, people talk."

Jack followed Rosie's gaze and his lips slightly parted in a gape. There was no denying Phryne's exuberance. Phryne Fisher lived her life to the fullest. It was one of the things that most attracted him. She was a wild wind who blew fresh air into his stagnant soul. And, whatever their fate, it was the thing for which he would be forever grateful.

"Miss Fisher might suppose herself above the bonds of propriety but... Take that dress for example," Rosie went on, smoothing her own lovely, though conservative, mauve affair in haughty contrast. "She'll be gossiped about for weeks."

Jack's lips drew down in the way Rosie always interpreted as displeasure but, which really indicated ironic amusement. He doubted very much that he would be the only one recalling the splendor of her form in that emerald gown. In fact, he was certain that Phryne was counting on it - and would not mind being the topic of such a conversation in the slightest.

But the longer Jack watched Phryne dancing with Fletcher, the more discomposed he felt. He observed her alabaster arm stretching up, taut, to meet her dance partner's shoulder. Saw her laugh as Fletcher leaned down and whispered something amusing to her. A sickening feeling began to flood him. _No. This would not do._ Rosie misinterpreted his expression, thinking her words were having their intended effect.

He had lost the thread of what Rosie was saying, and suddenly noticed that her hand had somehow found its way into the crook of his elbow. "...it's practically vulgar," she hissed into his ear. Quirking his head, Jack squinted at her, as if altering his vision would help him to understand what his former wife was implying about his current partner. Suddenly, Jack Robinson did something very rare... he was rude.

"You'll excuse me, won't you _Miss Sanderson_?" and without waiting for a reply, he left her standing there and made his way to the nearest bar station. The whiskey burned resolve into his throat.

Phryne, for her part, was enjoying herself. Sidney Fletcher proved to be both a gentleman and a perfectly adequate dance partner, even if he wasn't the one she had hoped for. "You're very light on your feet," she told him. The song was nearing a close when Sidney told her, with a measure of polite disappointment, "I would ask you for the next dance, Miss Fisher. But, it appears your card is already full."

Uncomprehending, she looked up and followed his gaze to the determined figure making his way onto the dance floor. Phryne beamed as Jack cut a swift path to where she stood and Fletcher bowed out gracefully before Jack had to say a word.

"May I have the pleasure of the next dance?" Jack extended his hand but, she didn't take it.  
"I thought Rosie said you didn't dance?" She couldn't make it too easy on him, could she?   
He considered this for a moment before answering. "Like so many things in life, Miss Fisher, the desire to dance is greatly dependent on one's _partner_."   
"Quite," she murmured through parted lips and looked up at him through her lashes in the way that made his knees grow weak.

Serendipitously, the band struck up a waltz. Phryne placed her hand tentatively in his and asked, "Slow and close?"  
"A promise is a promise, Miss Fisher."  
He pulled her tightly to him and the skin of her bare back rippled beneath his hand. His pulse sounded loudly, deafening him to the rhythm of the band when a whoosh of air unexpectedly breathed into his ear, "Phryne."  
He met her bright eyes and rumbled, "A promise is a promise, Phryne."  
A tinge of pink coloured her cheeks and she closed her eyes for a moment, smiling a shy - dare he think, _demure?_ \- smile before capturing his gaze and shutting out everything but Jack's eyes upon her face, his touch upon her skin and his languid movement, propelling her to follow him wherever he might lead.

If Rosie Sanderson was surprised by Jack's sudden disappearance, she was downright shocked when she saw him preempt her fiancé's next dance. Then, altogether livid as she watched in jealous indignation as he pulled that woman into an intimate embrace. Tears of outrage stung her eyes and she gulped an entire glass of champagne before Sidney came striding back to her side. "Alright, beautiful?" he asked.   
"Oh, yes," she lied, through bared teeth.

The band leader studied the crowd and directed his orchestra according to the mood of the room. Couples had crowded onto the floor for the waltz and he was not about to fail them. These people had deep pockets - they were his God and Country. Holding his baton like a general entering the fray of battle, he commanded an offense in 3/4 time.

"Did you tip the band, Jack?" she teased when the second waltz began to play.  
"Not getting bored, are you?"  
"Not in the least," she replied airily as her lips curve into a teasing half-smile. Now that she was over her initial astonishment, she occupied her sense of mischief-making by attempting to provoke him. She breathed warm caresses onto his neck and her hand had crept along his shoulder until it was close enough for her fingernail to dip just beneath the collar of his shirt.   
Jack fought back against the betrayal of his body and was suddenly wishing for a faster number - if only to distract Miss Fisher for a few moments.

That band leader really was extraordinary. The orchestra transitioned into a thoroughly American jazz number that required a tidy foxtrot to keep up. But, soon enough, Phryne was pulling away into unscripted maneuvers, as was the norm in dark, smoky nightclubs like The Green Mill. She sauntered around Jack in a circle, sweeping her hands over his shoulders, trailing fingers across his jaw and teasing him as much as she could manage under the guise of modern dancing. 

"Come on, Jack! Have some fun!" Phryne entreated but, it was too far out of his comfort zone. She eventually returned to the one-step and was teasing him about learning some new tricks when the song took an unexpected turn. The pianist toddled on the keys in a slow, sultry, blues riff and Jack seized his opportunity.

With one hand at her shoulder and the other on her hip, he dropped her into a dip, locking his leg around hers. He relished her gasp of surprise and held her suspended for a long moment as her breaths strained the silk across her chest.

"Jack," she begged.

For a moment he worried. But when he brought her slowly upright, he could see that her pupils were dilated with want and her nostrils flared slightly as she stared between his eyes and his mouth. Jack quickly swept her back into the dance, looking quite satisfied with himself as his eyes glittered darkly and the corner of his mouth twitched upward. 

Phryne was astonished until she realized that he was finally willing to play the game. She tossed her head back in a throaty laugh and threw her arms around Jack's neck.  _To hell with the suspect._  The man who had been eluding her for nearly two years was right here in her arms. 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Boo! Hiss!
> 
> While I'm not so sure Phryne would get so distracted by our many-layered, hot tamale of a police detective that she would completely ignore her mission, I am sure I was too lazy to write it! (Sorry. Not sorry)
> 
> So, if it makes you happy, Phryne identified the man with Aunt P's discrete help and Jack will pull his records first thing next shift. See? All better!


End file.
